


Falling Stars

by maddierose



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorne, Dragons, F/M, Heavy Angst, House Targaryen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loss of Innocence, Loving Marriage, Pirates, Red Wedding, Self-Discovery, Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose
Summary: Shaera Targaryen was raised in Starfall by the surviving members of House Dayne. From an early age, Shaera knew her destiny - that one day, she would become Queen of Westeros, with her twin Aegon as her loyal Hand. To survive the danger that surrounds them, they must learn to play a game that all of their adversaries know far better. Robb/OC, eventual Jaime/OC.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Robb Stark/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11





	1. Summons to Sunspear

**Warnings: none**

Shaera Targaryen 

No one ever spoke of how the Targaryen twins survived Robert’s Rebellion. There must have been several among the Dornish who knew the tale, yet none of them wanted to tell a ghost story.

What struck Shaera as most unfair was that they had survived where Rhaenys did not.

Shaera did not remember Rhaenys. She and Aegon had been mere babes when they had been spirited out of King’s Landing, entrusted to their mother’s family in Dorne. Fortunately for the twins, they had managed to pass as Dornish. Shaera shared her mother’s dark eyes, dark hair and olive complexion. Aegon was more difficult to pass off due to his fair hair and violet eyes, but House Dayne were known for such eyes – which is how they came to be Sierra and Alin Dayne, cousins instead of siblings.

Adem Dayne, Lord of Starfall, had adopted the twins without question. In public he referred to them as his niece and nephew, for he knew spies were everywhere. All it would take was a whisper back to the crown, and it could spell the end for Shaera and Aegon. They kept the charade well, and did their best not to let their masks slip.

Shaera’s destiny weighed heavily upon her. She was the elder of the twins, and under Dornish law, that meant she had the claim to the throne over Aegon. Her brother had always accepted this with nonchalance, and spoke about becoming her Hand when she ascended as Queen. Aegon’s role had always been that of the protector, of the watchful guardian in the wings, willing to do whatever it took to protect his sister and Queen.

If she had not grown up in Dorne, things would have been different. Shaera knew full well that the rest of Westeros did not abide by the same rights of inheritance. Yet her mother had been of Dorne, and she was as proud of her Dornish heritage as she was her dragon’s blood.

However, now was not the time to be dwelling on such matters, not when their adoptive father had a training day in mind. Shaera was already in a sour mood when Aegon knocked her on her back and she inhaled a mouthful of sand. Scowling, she pushed herself to her feet. Her shirt clung unpleasantly to her skin because of the humidity and her own exertion.

“Again,” Adem Dayne commanded. The Lord of Starfall watched with arms folded over his chest as the twins circled each other. Shaera was overcome by a wave of frustration, but she fought it back as she gripped her knives. Aegon was a master at the blade, as he was with most things. Shaera, on the other hand, was apparently useless with weapons.

It was odd, knowing if she had been raised in King’s Landing, she would never have been permitted to spar with her twin as she did now. However, their uncle Doran constantly reminded them that Dorne was different. Growing up in Starfall meant that Shaera had liberties she would not have had in the capital.

Aegon lunged and Shaera spun out of the way. Speed – the one thing she had on her twin. But it was all well and good to writhe around like a snake, for when he grabbed a hold of her, there would be no escape. It took only a few half-hearted traded blows for Aegon to knock both of Shaera’s knives spinning into the sand.

“I don’t understand why this is necessary,” Shaera grumbled, glaring at her adoptive father. “If you want to make me a Queen, I should be flouncing about in dresses, not trying to cut people to ribbons.”

“Times are changing. We don’t need a benevolent smile, a pretty face and honeyed words. Dornish women can hold their own, and you are as Dornish as you are Targaryen.” Lord Dayne permitted himself a small smile. “Besides, you already do enough flouncing in dresses.”

Aegon laughed, and Shaera cuffed him around the back of the head, as if they were eight and not eighteen.

Shaera knew what they were doing, Lord Dayne and the Martells. They were forging her into a weapon. She would be more than just a Queen. She had been taught the history and politics of the seven kingdoms. She had been taught comportment and swordplay. The twins had been prepared for Shaera’s eventual reign, and viewed it not as her right, but her duty.

“Father, there’s a letter from Sunspear!” Edric Dayne, Adem’s eleven-year-old son, rushed into the courtyard with wide blue eyes. Shaera could not help but smile fondly. Her adoptive cousin was a nuisance at the best of times, often eavesdropping on conversations and sticking his nose into matters that weren’t his business.

Adem sighed. “Did you snatch that letter from Maester Perrin?”

Edric’s expression was the epitome of innocence. “No, of course not.”

“Did so, you thieving brat.” Aegon affectionately ruffled the top of Edric’s hair, using the distraction as an opportunity to snatch the parchment from the boy’s fingers. “I wonder what Prince Doran has to say…”

Edric was indignant. “I found it!”

“Edric, go wash up and prepare for dinner.” For a few moments, Adem and his son’s eyes locked as Lord Dayne wore down the boy’s defiance. “ _Now_.”

The boy made a disgruntled noise before running back inside. There was a weariness in Adem’s expression as he watched Edric leave, and Shaera was reminded that the Lord of Starfall had lost much too. His brother Arthur, killed at the Tower of Joy. His sister Ashara, who took her own life not long after Arthur’s demise.

Aegon was reading over the letter he’d swiped from Edric, his expression grim. Shaera put her knives away and crossed over to her twin, suddenly curious.

“Well, what does it say?”

“You and I have been summoned to Sunspear.” Aegon tore his violet eyes from the parchment. “Prince Doran does not say why.”

Shaera felt a shiver of unease. Although she and Aegon were always welcome in Sunspear, this was the first time they had received an official summons. She wondered what could be so important that Doran wished to see them so urgently. Both she and Aegon turned to glance at Adem, weighing what he thought of the news.

“Then you must go. I daresay you are old enough now to make the journey yourselves.”

“Perhaps he’s found you a husband,” Aegon crowed delightedly, nudging his sister in the ribs.

Shaera rolled her eyes, both at her brother’s enthusiasm and at the idea that this was about marriage. In another life, she and Aegon would have married – Targaryens had wed brother to sister for generations. The idea repulsed Shaera, for her feelings for Aegon had never crossed into the threshold of lust. He was her brother, her best friend. Anything more than that simply felt wrong.

“I don’t think so.” Her tone was dry. She was comfortable here in Starfall. Them leaving this place was inevitable, but they were not children anymore. Each day brought the question of when she would have to leave to fulfil her destiny. Perhaps that was why they had been summoned. Perhaps today was that day.

“You should pack your things tonight,” Adem stated, and there was something sad in his eyes as he examined the twins, “Leave tomorrow. The Prince of Dorne is not a man to be kept waiting.”

* * *

Farewells were easy when they were temporary. Over the past few years, Shaera and Aegon had had their share of adventures, but they had always known that those journeys would end in their return to Starfall. This time, however, Shaera wasn’t so sure. When Adem embraced her, it was tight and lingering. The smile their adoptive father had given them was sad. That was when Shaera had first begun to doubt their return.

Aegon was more cheerful about the experience than his twin, but then, he was more cheerful about most things. He whistled insistently for the first hour of the ride before Shaera told him to shut up.

Their entourage was small, no more than two dozen. They were only the niece and nephew of Lord Dayne, after all. Anything too large was sure to attract attention and suspicion. Although Dorne was a safe haven for the twins, Adem had always told them to question everything. As much as they might want to trust people, people had ulterior motives.

“Perhaps we should tell tales instead to pass the time,” Aegon suggested.

“You just want to hear about your hero Arthur Dayne again,” Shaera sniped back.

It was no secret to Shaera that Aegon examined Dawn with a mixture of awe and longing. Her brother had confessed to her, years before, that he one day hoped to be worthy of the title Sword of the Morning.

“You _like_ tales,” Aegon reminded her, “Even the morbid ones from Robert’s Rebellion.”

That was because, to the twins, they were only stories. Many people older than them had lived through those times, suffered in some way or another during the war. The loss of their mother Elia, a woman who neither of them could remember, was like a shadow hanging over Dorne.

It had been three years since the twins had last been in Sunspear. Shaera fondly remembered her family – her uncles, Doran and Oberyn. She dwelled on her cousins, the Sand Snakes. They too had been trained to be proficient with weapons, however rumour had it they were a lot better than she was. While Shaera struggled to best Aegon, any of the Sand Snakes could have taken him down in the blink of an eye. She did so hope to be able to witness that fight when they arrived in Sunspear.

It was only a few days’ ride to Sunspear, and Aegon and Shaera had opted for tents over seeking the comfort of local towns. They had always enjoyed setting up camp, and this time was no different. Whilst Aegon retreated to the sanctuary of the tent, Shaera would lie under the stars for some time in quiet contemplation.

 _You think too much_ , Aegon often told her, _that’s why you hesitate so much in fights._

It was on the fifth day they made their final approach, and Shaera found excitement and nervousness rising and intertwining within her. She had been to many festivities here in the past – and remembered one particular incident where she had helped a very drunk Aegon to bed.

How would things have changed, in the three years since they had last been here? Would they still be welcomed as warmly? Doran and Oberyn had never been anything but kind to the twins, but times and people changed. Shaera found she was anxious because she had no idea what to expect.

 _You are their Queen_ , Adem had constantly reminded her, _never forget that_.

Shaera didn’t want to be that kind of Queen, the one who invoked her title whenever she was feeling threatened, the sort who pressured people into obedience. It would be naïve to think people would follow her because they loved her, but she would at least earn the respect that so many others demanded. Trust went both ways, after all.

“Come on.” Aegon flashed her the charming smile that made so many girls in Starfall giggle and blush. “Let’s see why our dear uncle has summoned us, shall we?”


	2. Northbound

**Warnings: none**

Shaera Targaryen

It was hotter in Sunspear than it had been in Starfall, although Shaera supposed she should have anticipated as such. As the southernmost kingdom in Westeros, Dorne was far from the impending chill of winter - for now, at least. The sun beat down upon Shaera’s olive skin, and she was grateful to forsake the heat for the relative coolness of her uncle’s halls. Aegon fared even worse in the sun due to his paler colouring, something Shaera had always teased him about.

Little had changed in the castle’s halls in the three years since Shaera had last set foot in Sunspear, and she was grateful for the familiarity. The Martell colours and golden sun symbols proudly decorated the walls, and tiles were cool under Shaera’s bare feet as she slid her shoes off and cast around for a member of her family.

A shriek resonated through the corridors, and Shaera spun around to see Arianne Martell hurrying toward them, resplendent despite her hurried pace and rustling silks. She threw her arms around Shaera, who was almost a good head taller than her cousin. Not that it was hard, considering Arianne was scarcely more than five feet tall.

“I am so pleased to see you both.” Arianne’s dark eyes darted between them. “Sierra and Alin.”

Their false names were a reminder that even here, they were not safe. To all but the Martell family and those they trusted, they were the Dayne cousins. None would deem Arianne’s affection misplaced for dear friends the royal family had known since childhood.

“No embrace for me, Arianne?” Aegon teased. When their cousin obliged him, she shrieked again as he picked her up and spun her around, causing Shaera to roll her eyes despite the smile on her lips.

“We received word that Doran wishes to speak with us, in person.”

Arianne’s warm expression became more closed at the mention of her father. There was some tension between Doran and his eldest child, although Shaera could not have guessed at the source of it.

“Of course he does.” Mischief sparked in her eyes again. “But I think you should see the boys first.”

Aegon grinned triumphantly. Whilst Shaera and Arianne were thick as thieves, Aegon was closer with Quentyn - who was only one year their elder - and Trystane. Although Shaera sighed dramatically at his enthusiasm, she personally had to confess that she was thrilled at the idea of seeing her other cousins again.

“Where are they now?”

“Most likely sparring.” Arianne tossed back her dark hair. “Trystane believes he can beat Quentyn now.”

“I could beat them both,” Aegon stated confidently, causing the two young women to exchange looks at his arrogance. Seeing their amusement at his expense, he raised his eyebrows. “What? I’m bigger than both of them.”

“Size doesn’t equal ability,” Arianne chastised, a smirk curving the corners of her lips. “We should see how you fare against the Sand Snakes when they’re back in the city.”

“The boys will have to do for now.” Aegon practically strutted off in search of his cousins, eagerly anticipating the sort of challenge that sparring with Shaera didn’t provide. Only once he was gone did Shaera turn her attention back to Arianne.

“Do you know what all of this is about?”

“No.” Arianne’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Father doesn’t tell me much these days. He is distant.”

“I’m sorry.” Shaera reached for her cousin’s arm, but Arianne nimbly avoided the contact by turning on her heel.

“Don’t be. You should clean yourself up, I imagine it’s been a journey from Starfall.”

* * *

Doran Martell’s gout had worsened over the years of the Targaryen twins’ absence. He was confined to a wheelchair for the most part, and it saddened Shaera to see the Prince of Dorne as a shadow of his former self. She did not comment, knowing that the last thing Doran wanted was her pity. He greeted his niece and nephew with subdued warmth, before ushering them into this meeting room so they could commence discussions.

Shaera appreciated that about Doran – he was a frank man, one who was more than happy to get to the point. Displays of affection would only have drawn more suspicion, considering the lie they maintained about Shaera and Aegon being Dayne cousins. Fortunately, Doran was also more than happy to begin the conversation without preamble.

“Jon Arryn is dead.”

The words left silence in their wake as Shaera attempted to process what this meant for them, for the realm. Jon Arryn had been Robert Baratheon’s Hand. He had not been young when the Usurper had been crowned, yet he had been responsible for maintaining an uneasy peace throughout a realm scarred by war. It was he who had calmed the hot-blooded Martells, who had hungered to avenge Elia’s death.

“Who will replace him?” It was Aegon who asked the question that was on Shaera’s mind. He stood by the fire, his violet eyes dark as he looked to their uncle.

“Most likely Eddard Stark, Robert’s closest friend.” Doran drummed his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair. “He lives in Winterfell, far in the North. No doubt if Robert intends to ask him, he will venture there shortly.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Aegon and I,” Shaera admitted. It was news to her that the Hand was dead, yet why had that been so important that Doran had summoned them to Sunspear? Certainly, a raven would have been sufficient to carry such tidings.

Shaera tried to remember what she knew of Lord Stark. Eddard had argued with Robert over the slaughter of Rhaenys and the twin babes they had passed off as herself and Aegon. He had believed the murders horrific and unnecessary. He was a man of honour, but being less cruel than Tywin and less violent than Robert did not equate to being a good man.

“We have waited many years for things to change in the realm,” Doran’s voice was slow, careful, “Jon Arryn’s death is such a change. Lord Stark was more sympathetic when he believed that you and your brother had been slaughtered alongside Rhaenys.”

Aegon shook his head fervently. “He would never side with us over the Usurper.”

“Perhaps not, but this is the opportunity to begin making wise alliances.” Doran’s gaze shifted to Shaera. “It is time Alin and Sierra Dayne ventured North, to seek out a potential husband for Sierra in Eddard’s eldest son, Robb Stark.”

“What?” The word was sharp as a knife as it emerged from between Shaera’s lips. So Aegon had in fact been correct when he’d made the assumption that their uncle could be summoning them to find her a husband. “No.”

She would become Queen of Westeros, and she knew that it was vital she marry an important man. However she felt that this would be a waste, throwing her to the Starks just to see if they could gain their allegiance. What if it backfired on them, and they murdered Shaera in her sleep upon discovering that she was a lost Targaryen princess?

“It is a facade, nothing more,” Doran assured her. Although Shaera said nothing, the tension in her shoulders eased somewhat.

“What is our real purpose there?” Aegon inquired, folding his arms over his chest.

“It is time for you to find some allies in the changing political climate.” Doran looked between the twins. “Even if the Starks should refuse such a match - which I believe they will - the idea is that you will begin to asses who could support you when you go to claim the throne.”

“Which will be when?” Shaera demanded, her irritation and impatience getting the better of her. “We have waited eighteen years so far, just for Jon Arryn to pass. How much longer do we intend to wait?”

“As long as needed.” Doran’s response was firm, his brow furrowing into a frown. “The Starks and the Lannisters are by no means friends, and I have the feeling that tensions will be caused by Robert wanting to appoint Eddard.”

“He’s right, Shae.” Aegon moved across to his twin, resting a placating hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off. “The day is closer than ever, but we need to remain patient, or we could ruin everything that our family has worked so hard to achieve. I want to avenge our parents just as much as you.”

Shaera lapsed into silence. She could not remember her parents. Her father, murdered at the Trident. Her mother, raped and murdered by Gregor Clegane. Their horrific fates could not go unpunished. If venturing to Winterfell and finally entering the fray was what could make it all change, then Shaera was prepared to give it a chance.

“When do we leave?” The words were quiet, almost frightened. Shaera had spent her entire life in Dorne. Whichever of the seven kingdoms she’d expected to visit, she would not have believed it would be the one furthest from them.

“On the morrow.” Doran reached for her hand, and Shaera’s shaking fingers clasped his. “I know this is sudden. But I know you are ready for this, both of you. You can spend the evening with your cousins and prepare for the journey to come.”

* * *

Aegon Targaryen

A feast would have been too conspicuous and raised too many questions, so the Martell family had a smaller dinner instead. As much as Aegon wished to indulge in Dornish wine and blissfully forget the fact that he would be headed for Winterfell on the morrow, he knew it would be an irresponsible decision for the future Hand of the Queen. Instead he had two cups and excused himself to bed, his heart heavy at the knowledge that he would be leaving his uncles and cousins with no idea when he would return.

What would he do in the North? Whilst Shaera was allegedly there to make a match with Robb, Doran had said nothing of Aegon. He supposed he would follow his twin wherever she led. As they had often been told, the rest of Westeros may not recognise Shaera’s claim. The Dornish would see her put on the throne, yet many of the great houses would believe Aegon to be the true heir. He had always been told that Shaera would take the throne, and knowing he would be her Hand, had no objections.

Aegon changed and slipped into bed, only to pause at the soft knock at his door. He was not expecting company, although many of the Dornish girls had flirted with him since his arrival in Sunspear. Usually, he’d not mind taking one of them to bed, but tonight was different. Cautious, he sat up.

“Come in.”

It was Shaera who entered his room, closing the door quietly behind her. It was hardly uncommon – the twins had shared a bed often in their younger years, when one or the other of them was plagued by nightmares. It hadn’t happened since they had been twelve or thirteen, but he could understand that Shaera needed his company tonight. Wordlessly, he shifted across to let her crawl under the blankets beside him.

For a few minutes, there was a comfortable silence broken only by the cicadas outside and occasional distant footsteps. Sunspear was as much their home as Starfall, their blood family as much a part of their lives as their adoptive family. When would they see the Daynes or the Martells again?

“I don’t want to leave Dorne,” Shaera whispered, and Aegon could feel her shaking as she drew closer to him.

“We must.” Aegon was, as always, the voice of reason. He had always been the more practical, the one who used his head while his wilful twin was led by her heart. Although he understood her trepidation, it would do no good to encourage doubt. One of them had to be positive.

“What if I don’t want to be Queen?” Shaera’s voice trembled, and he could tell that dread enveloped her at the idea that her entire life might have been built up around a future she didn’t want. He could sympathise – he had always known he would be her Hand, her heir until she bore a child of her own.

“It is your destiny.” Aegon reached across and gripped her hands in his own, linking his fingers through hers. They had always known this day would come. There was no point in denying their fate.

“Will you stand beside me?” Shaera asked, her voice hopeful. Everything was easier when they were together, and he believed the burden of reigning would be no different.

“Always.” Aegon kissed the top of his head as he uttered the word he could not have known was a lie.

* * *

Eddard Stark

He read over the letter several times as though he could have misjudged its contents. In the years since Robert’s Rebellion, he’d had no contact with House Dayne other than returning Dawn to Starfall and informing the family of Arthur’s death and his hand in it. Yet the seal on the letter had certainly been that of Lord Adem Dayne. The news he bore was astonishing, although not so much as the heavy weight of Jon Arryn’s death.

Adem Dayne proposed that his niece and nephew come to Winterfell in order to foster peace between their uneasy houses. His niece was Sierra Dayne, fathered by Adem’s younger brother Azran before his death some years prior. His nephew was the biggest surprise of all - Alin Dayne, the bastard son of Ashara Dayne who had been legitimised by the Prince of Dorne. Adem also hinted at a betrothal between Sierra and Robb, although it was not explicitly stated.

“What is it, my love?” Catelyn was by his side, startling Ned who had been gazing so deeply into the hearth that he hadn’t noticed her arrival. She frowned at the piece of paper curled between his fingers. “Another letter?”

“Yes,” Ned handed it to her, interested to see what his wife would make of it. “From Lord Dayne.”

There were a few moments of quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire as Catelyn’s eyes scanned the paper, before she pressed it back into Ned’s hands.

“So Ashara did have a child.” Her voice was soft. Not long after the news reached Starfall about Arthur’s death, Ashara had thrown herself from the cliffs. No one had known if it was because of her brother, but rumours circulated that Ashara had birthed a bastard child and could not live with the shame of it. Adem made no mention of Alin’s father, nor did Ned expect he would - if he even knew.

“It would seem so.” Ned’s voice was heavy. There had often been speculation that he had fathered Ashara’s child, that Jon Snow was that child. Here was proof, in paper and ink, that it was not the case.

“Do you think a match between Robb and the Dayne girl…” Catelyn trailed off. Robb was seventeen now, a man grown. It was certainly time they set about finding him a wife. Yet Ned sensed Catelyn’s hesitation in promising him to Sierra Dayne.

“I think we should meet these Dayne children before we can make any decision.” Ned knew that it would be a wise move - especially to make peace with House Dayne, with whom he had been tense since Arthur’s death at the Tower of Joy. However, he knew little of Lord Dayne’s motivations, and even less of Sierra and Alin. He would accept the offer to host them in Winterfell, yet he could promise no more than that.

“In any case, their presence could mend the rift that was caused during Robert’s Rebellion,” Catelyn suggested.

Ned remained silent. Dorne had been enraged after House Targaryen had fallen - how could he blame them? Elia had been senselessly slaughtered, her toddler daughter Rhaenys and infant twins Aegon and Shaera brutally murdered. It had been a violent and unnecessary act, no matter what Robert or Tywin might say. Jon Arryn had smoothed things over with Dorne, but Jon was dead now. It would be up to Ned to conduct such diplomatic matters, if Robert truly was intent on making him Hand of the King.

“I agree.”

As Ned neatly folded the letter and set it aside, he couldn’t help but think that the Dayne children being in Winterfell at the same time as the King’s company would make things tense. Even though their party would be far smaller than Robert’s, suddenly Winterfell felt awfully crowded. He wondered what he would see in their eyes when they looked at him. Accusation? Revulsion? This was a young man who had lost his mother to the cliffs, a young woman whose father had died when she was just a child.

“What happened was in a time of war, Ned.” Catelyn’s voice was firm. There were some things she held against him, but this was not one of them. “You were trying to save your sister. These Dayne children would have been babes when it happened, they would not blame you.”

Blame. Such a fickle word, for blame was thrown around without meaning or reason. It did not matter what Ned had done during Robert’s Rebellion - there would always be those who would condemn him for his actions. Perhaps none more so than House Dayne, who had lost the Sword of the Morning to Ned’s own blade.

* * *

Oberyn Martell

It had been mere hours since the Targaryen twins had departed Sunspear when Oberyn confronted his eldest brother. Although he could understand Doran’s perspective, he felt that he could not agree with it. His eldest brother was a man who wanted peace - which was why negotiations with Jon Arryn had not turned to bloodshed. Yet Oberyn’s blood burned hot with the desire to avenge the sister they had both lost.

“You think they will be safe in Winterfell when you know the Usurper will be there too?” Oberyn demanded as entered the hall in long, quick strides.

“He does not know what they are.” Doran’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “He believes they are Dayne children. Even with Aegon’s colouring, his eyes alone make it believable that Ashara was his mother.”

Oberyn shook his head slowly. In truth, it was not Robert that concerned him - the man had grown fat with wine and food, and cared more about whoring than ruling. It was Robert’s scheming wife Cersei and her black-hearted father Tywin who worried him. If they believed any of the Targaryens survived...Oberyn wasn’t certain what would happen, but knew it would not be good.

“You sent them straight into the jaws of the lion.”

“Yet they are dragons.” There was a steely gleam in Doran’s eyes as he observed his younger brother. “They have both trained for this for years. With the blade, with their tutors, with their books. They have been prepared, and knew that this moment would one day come.”

Oberyn could not disagree with that. The twins had been kept away from their family, lest anyone suspect the truth about their heritage, but Lord Dayne had been gracious and treated them like his own. Yet perhaps it was because they were family that he feared for them. Aegon was strong and commanding, while Shaera was lovely and formidable. They made quite the pair - yet they had never left Dorne.

“What if Lord Stark surprises us and agrees to wed Shaera to Robb?” Oberyn’s brow furrowed. “If he discovered the truth then, would his honour permit him to murder her still? One day, the truth about both of them will come to light, and promising her to someone has put her in danger.”

“Lord Stark would want better than the niece of a minor lord for his son.” Doran waved a dismissive hand. “I have other plans for a marriage arrangement. Rhaegar’s brother and sister are still in exile across the Narrow Sea.”

Viserys and Daenerys. There were days where Oberyn forgot about that. As the younger siblings of Rhaegar, their claims came after that of the twins - something that troubled Oberyn now that he was aware Doran intended to utilise them. It would do well to help all of the surviving Targaryens, yet Westeros would be ripped from underneath the feet of Aerys’s younger children.

“They do not know their niece and nephew live,” Oberyn reminded his older brother, “Viserys believes the throne is his birthright, yet the twins are higher in the line of succession. How do you think he would feel, brother, to realise that birthright is being taken from him and he knew nothing of it?”

“That is where Arianne comes in.” Doran’s lips curved into a faint smile. “She will one day be Princess of Dorne. I have in mind to wed her to Viserys.”

“Dorne is not Westeros,” Oberyn pointed out, “Dorne is not what Viserys will feel entitled to, not what he would want.”

There was a tense silence between the two men. They had only known Viserys as a small child, and had never met Daenerys at all. Whilst Arianne would be a handsome match for Viserys, there was the uneasy realisation that it may not be enough. It had been too dangerous to correspond with the exiled Targaryens about Shaera and Aegon. Would they accept their niece as their future Queen, or would there be another dance of dragons?

Oberyn hoped, for Doran’s sake, for all of their sakes, that Viserys would be placated with the offer of being Arianne’s consort in Dorne. Daenerys could take up residence in Dragonstone, the home of their ancestors, once they ousted Stannis Baratheon from that particular seat. They were generous offers, but as Oberyn and Doran both knew, there was no offer of a crown.

“We tread dangerous ground, brother,” Oberyn said quietly, folding his arms over his chest. “You feign loyal servitude to the Usurper, yet behind his back you plot not only the return of his enemy’s siblings, but the return of power to his enemy’s children.”

“We have played a dangerous game in Dorne for many years.” Doran’s expression was grim. “This move just happens to be our boldest yet.”


	3. The Gift

Shaera Targaryen

She had never known cold like the North, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Shivering, Shaera tugged her furs more tightly around her. She had forsaken the light fabrics she had worn in Dorne for heavier, more insulated clothing. She did not fare well in the chilliness of the North, although she had to admit that it was beautiful. It never snowed in Dorne, and compared to this cold, it felt like it was eternally summer. Winter was coming to Westeros, and the weather in the North proved it.  
  
“Try not to catch a chill,” Aegon called as he strode toward her, “Or pass out from the frigidness that is the North.”  
  
Shaera scowled and elbowed him in the ribs as he cackled. They were mere days from Winterfell and although the road was long, it had been a marvel to experience parts of Westeros outside of where they had grown up. She knew that she and Aegon had been born in King’s Landing in the Crownlands. Their journey had taken them through the lush greenery of the Reach, and past the many lakes and creeks of the Riverlands.  
  
Their entourage was small, as befitted the children of minor lords. The head of their guard was the bastard Daemon Sand, who had once been a lover of their cousin Arianne. He and Aegon had a boisterous and competitive friendship as young men their age tended to, but Daemon had a good heart, even if Shaera suspected he still harboured feelings for Arianne.  
  
It was odd to Shaera that her eldest cousin, at the age of twenty-four, was not married. She supposed that Doran must have his own plans in mind, just as he had for the twins. Perhaps one day when she’d grown comfortable in her role as a future ruler, she might be so bold as to question him about it.  
  
“I’ll do my best to save my damsel act for Winterfell,” Shaera responded to her brother, tossing back her dark hair.  
  
Doran wanted them to be careful in the North. It was common knowledge that women in Dorne could also be warriors, so fortunately Shaera would not have to forsake her weapons. However she and Aegon had practised calling each other by their false names and encouraging the rest of their entourage to do the same, so once they reached Lord Stark’s keep they could truly slip into the roles of Alin and Sierra Dayne.  
  
Shaera was nervous. In Dorne, she and Aegon were openly accepted even under their aliases. In the North, she had heard the people could be very stiff and formal. There would be none of the friendliness and warmth that she was used to, and the idea made her heart ache, though she could not have said why. However these were thoughts she didn’t even feel comfortable discussing with her twin.  
  
“I wouldn’t fret if I were you.” Daemon sauntered over, his fingers looped through his belt. “I’m the one whose last name is ‘Sand’, so I’m certain I’m the one they’ll turn their noses up at.”  
  
Shaera could see why Arianne liked him. Daemon was courteous and easygoing. He was quick to smile and laugh. When Shaera was Queen, she wanted a court of amusements, not just the serious and scheming social climbers.  
  
“You forget.” Aegon jabbed a finger in his direction, a grin spreading across his own face. “I am also posing as a bastard. Just a legitimised one.”  
  
“Yes, my prince, but there’s a difference to be seen there.” Daemon slung an arm around Aegon’s shoulders, something that would have to stop before Winterfell. “You are a Dayne, I am a Sand.”  
  
“I hear Lord Stark has a bastard child,” Shaera murmured. The boy was of a similar age to his half-brother, Robb. Apparently the honourable Ned had fathered him during Robert’s Rebellion, though not even the King himself could have said who the child’s mother was.  
  
“Oh yes, Jon Snow.” Daemon shook his head slowly. “I bet Lady Stark was thrilled when he brought another woman’s baby home from war.”  
  
Shaera knew it was all too common for men to be unfaithful to their wives. Their own father, Rhaegar, had run off with Lyanna Stark and dishonoured their mother, Elia. Many spoke of him as a gentle man with a love for music, particularly his silver harp. Neither Shaera nor Aegon had inherited such musical talent. Shaera wondered whether it would have fallen to their sister, Rhaenys. Nonetheless, Shaera could not respect her father, for she loathed what he had done to their mother. He’d started a war, all over a girl.  
  
Was that Shaera’s fate as well? To be wed for political gain, to a man who would break her heart and humiliate her? She truly hoped not. It was just as well that venturing North was to gain allies and that a possible betrothal to Robb Stark was a pretence, for she did not much fancy a Northern lord who might tire of a wife with dragon blood. Whilst her father had searched for wildness, Robb might have wanted demureness. She thanked the gods that the Stark heir was not her mission.

Aegon Targaryen

The North was incredibly fucking cold and he was finding it difficult to cope with it. Shaera was making a valiant effort of hiding her discomfort, bundled up in furs, but Aegon could see her teeth chattering at times. He had never craved a warm bed as much, and found himself immensely grateful when the silhouette of Winterfell’s keep came into view through the thin blanket of snowfall.  
  
“Thank the gods,” he muttered under his breath as they rode through the gates and into the courtyard. There was a small assembly there to greet them, mostly seeming to consist of the Stark family. With the royal family currently in residence at Winterfell, Aegon had not exactly expected a parade in their honour.  
  
“Lord Stark.” Shaera dismounted her horse, immediately good grace and diplomacy. Although she must have been weary, it did not show as she inclined her head to the middle-aged man who had to be Eddard Stark.  
  
Aegon’s eyes raked over the rest of the family. The auburn-haired woman beside him with a grim set to her mouth had to be Catelyn. The boy beside her was of similar age to the twins, with his mother’s colouring. This had to be Robb, the heir. There were two girls - one auburn-haired and pretty, the other dark-haired and plainer - and two small boys. Aegon could not recall all of their names, although he was sure Shaera would.  
  
“You must be Sierra Dayne.” Lord Stark’s grey eyes flicked to Aegon. “And your cousin, Alin Dayne.”  
  
Aegon reminded himself that with this facade, he was inferior to Lord Stark, and he bowed stiffly in accordance with those ridiculous social customs. The charade had to continue, even though it meant that Aegon unbent his pride a little.  
  
“May I present my wife Catelyn and my children - Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon.”  
  
The auburn-haired girl, the older one, blushed furiously under Aegon’s scrutiny. She was a little young for his taste, probably around thirteen or so. He imagined her to be the sort who became besotted with whatever handsome young nobleman looked her way. Not that it mattered - the Starks thought him a bastard, so he was of little consequence to Sansa.  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Shaera beamed at them all. It amazed Aegon that his sister believed herself shy and not much good at social interaction, when anyone who met her could sense her genuine nature and warmth. “I suppose we must have arrived just after the royal party. I noticed the Baratheon colours as we rode in.”  
  
“Mere hours, in fact.” Lady Stark’s smile was thin. “We are having a feast tonight in the King’s honour. You are more than welcome to join.”  
  
Aegon suspected that Lady Stark was stressed about the size of the party now taking up residence in Winterfell, for he didn’t feel as though she was very welcoming. The North was not known for revelries, unlike the sort of feasts and parties the Martells often hosted in Dorne. He expected the celebrations to be rather stiff and forced, much like Lady Stark’s smile.  
  
“That sounds wonderful.” Shaera glanced over her shoulder at their entourage. “We will rest and bathe, and then join you for dinner.”  
  
Aegon couldn’t help but flash a grin. “We very much look forward to it.”

Jaime Lannister

When he had been a boy, freshly knighted, he had worshipped Arthur Dayne. When the name ‘Dayne’ began to circulate Winterfell, Jaime could not help but wonder which of the man’s family could have ventured to a place as desolate and hellish as Winterfell - and for what purpose? Certainly, there was nothing of interest here.  
He caught sight of the Daynes and their entourage at the feast for the King’s arrival. The pair had to be a similar age to Ned Stark’s boy, although with very different demeanours.  
  
Alin, Ashara’s bastard son, was at ease with the pulse of the music, quick to take up an ale in his hand as he slipped through the party. His hair was pale blonde - no doubt that was inherited from his unknown father - and his eyes were violet like his mother’s. A handsome young man, one who already had the women in the hall whispering and giggling amongst themselves. Alin encouraged the attention, tipping winks and stopping to flirt.  
  
It was the girl that truly caught Jaime’s attention. Sierra, if he recalled correctly. Azran’s daughter. Azran had been young when he had died, and Jaime couldn’t remember if he’d married. Most likely if Sierra was not a legitimised bastard like her cousin. She had the typical Dornish dark hair and eyes and a brown complexion.  
  
There was no smile to be found on Sierra’s lips. Despite her pretty greetings and polite interactions with those who approached her, when Sierra was on her own, Jaime noted she was serious and watchful. Those dark eyes scanned the feast, flicking to her rambunctious cousin every now and again. She was wary, a little Dayne star in a den of wolves and lions. How out of place this southern girl was, how out of her depth.  
  
Jaime’s lip curled as he noted Robert beginning to get increasingly drunk, and Cersei’s gaze increasingly cold as it landed upon her husband. Not that Jaime could blame her - Robert was a poor husband at best. Tonight their absence would be noticed, so perhaps another night, Jaime could take her mind off Robert.  
  
The Stark heir and the Greyjoy ward were drinking and laughing together. Jaime followed Robb’s gaze and noticed that he was looking at the Dayne girl. Sierra’s grim demeanour had vanished and she was once again mingling, all graceful curtsies and warm words. Jaime couldn’t blame the boy - she was a lovely girl, though not the match Jaime thought Ned had in mind for his eldest son. Azran hadn’t even been a lord, just the younger brother of one.  
  
The daughter of a knight and the bastard son of a lord’s sister. What an interesting pair.  
  
“Taking stock, Kingslayer?” A Dornish man that he didn’t recognise approached, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t know me. I’m Daemon Sand.”  
  
Jaime did know him. Or at least, knew of him. Daemon had squired for Oberyn Martell himself, and was considered one of the finest knights in Dorne. Whilst interesting that he had accompanied the Dayne cousins on their venture North, it was not entirely surprising. Perhaps the girl was even his lover, or even the boy. Rumours circulated about the nature of Daemon’s relationship with Oberyn, so nothing would astonish Jaime.  
  
“Your charges are intriguing.” Jaime tilted his head to the side. “Tell me, does Sierra truly imagine she is to marry the next Warden of the North? I’ve seen ambitious social climbers, and she isn’t one. What interest does she have in Robb Stark?”  
  
“That’s for Lord Dayne to answer.” Daemon shrugged his shoulders, raising his goblet to his lips and taking a deep sip. “I do as I’m instructed, Ser Jaime. Beyond that, I don’t ask questions that are none of my concern.”  
  
Raucous laughter erupted across the hall, and both of them turned to see Sierra angrily berating her cousin as she escorted him from the hall. Alin’s steps were unsteady, and it was clear he’d had too much to drink. He wondered if Sierra would bother returning, considering she was evidently not enjoying the celebrations.  
Despite the apparent innocence of the Dayne cousins, Jaime prickled with unease. They had conveniently arrived at Winterfell, allegedly to see the Starks, at the exact same time as the royal party. Their claim that the girl was a prospective bride for Robb was a weak one - which led to the question, why exactly were the Daynes so far North, when the Dornish had kept to themselves since the end of Robert’s Rebellion?

Shaera Targaryen

Shaera was not impressed with Aegon’s antics during the arrival feast. She had anticipated that perhaps he would get slightly inebriated, but having to drag him to his bedchamber had not been part of those expectations. She knew he would be spending the following day in his room feeling sorry for himself and nursing his hangover, and she made a point of leaving him to his own devices.  
  
Shaera had noticed Robb observing her, and couldn’t say she was too disappointed in the attention. Ned and Catelyn’s eldest son was handsome and everything she would have expected a dashing lord’s son to be. Although not one to be won by looks alone, in her brief interactions with Robb, he had been kind and courteous. Some part of her wished that they would interact more.  
  
Shaera took a stroll around the grounds, taking in as much of Winterfell as she could whilst she had the time. There was a freshness to the air, especially the way it smelled after a recent bout of rain. The coldness was becoming familiar, to the point where Shaera almost found it tolerable. She closed her eyes and let the tiny snowflakes drifting down from the grey clouds caress her skin and hair.  
  
Footsteps crunching through gravel made her eyes snap open, and she tensed when she recognised the man approaching her. Everything about him was golden - golden hair, golden armour. He looked like one of the knights from the stories that Adem had read to her and Aegon when they’d been children, huddled up and wide-eyed in the same bed.  
  
There was nothing valiant about this man, for she knew this was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. Taking care to school her features into a neutral expression. No good could come of losing her temper with Jaime.  
  
“Sierra Dayne, isn’t it?” Jaime arched his eyebrows coolly. She tossed back her hair and glowered up at him, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line.  
  
“Kingslayer.” She sneered the word. How she loathed him, the man who had murdered Aerys Targaryen by stabbing him in the back. The son of the cold, cruel Lord Tywin – who had authorised the murders of the royal children. How she wished she could tell him who she truly was, laugh in his face about the fact that she had survived. Here be dragons, Jaime Lannister.  
  
Her fury could pass as one of the Dornish angry at what had happened to Elia, yet she needed to be careful. Her anger could be her downfall if she did not learn to control it. Someone caught her by the elbow, and Shaera didn’t think she’d ever been more relieved to see her twin.  
  
“Can we find some food?” There were dark shadows under Aegon’s eyes and although he yawned loudly, she suspected there was a reason he had ventured from the comfort of his bed. She thanked the gods for his impeccable timing, and followed him back indoors without another word to Jaime. She noted that Aegon hadn’t released her arm, and that his hand was shaking.  
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked.  
  
“There’s something you must see.” There was an urgency to his tone that Shaera could not ignore, and she realised this was not her twin simply attempting to gain her attention. She walked with Aegon through the corridors toward his bedchamber, and was astonished to see him bolt the door behind her as they stepped inside.  
  
“For the love of the Seven, will you tell me what the issue is?”  
  
Aegon pointed toward the fire, apparently lost for words. She noticed that there were two oval-shaped objects, neatly wrapped and set a little in front of the hearth. There was a note attached to them. Shaera crossed over cautiously, aware of Aegon pacing back and forth behind her. She knelt down and picked the note up, turning it over in her fingers to see the untidy scrawl etched across it.  
  
 _Shaera & Aegon. The Spider sends his greetings, and hopes you will accept this gift. Burn this note._  
  
“When were these put here?” Shaera asked, glancing over her shoulder at Aegon. The idea that someone in Winterfell knew the truth of their identities was disturbing. Shaera dreaded unwrapping whatever this ‘gift’ was. She did as the note instructed and tossed it into the fire, watching the flames eat away at their names with some satisfaction.  
  
“I don’t know.” Aegon shook his head. “While I was sleeping, I suppose.”  
  
It said a lot that even bold Aegon, her twin brother who had fearlessly taken up the sword at a young age, who was insistent upon one day becoming the next Sword of the Morning, had not opened the gift without her present. Realising that he was waiting on her to do the honours, Shaera took the burlap fabric off the ‘gift’, determined to find out what these two oval-shaped things were.  
  
When she did, she pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry of astonishment. Aegon ceased his pacing and cursed under his breath. Glinting ominously in the firelight, there could be no doubting what these oval objects were.  
  
They were dragon eggs.


End file.
